


Maybe People Just Like Porn Better

by uku



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Confused Stiles, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Future Fic, M/M, Old Friends, Sexual Content, adversity towards sex, difficulty in having relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-19
Updated: 2014-03-19
Packaged: 2018-01-15 10:54:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1302262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uku/pseuds/uku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe people just like porn better. </p><p>When you think logically - however 'logically' you'd want to think about this - it does make sense. I mean--</p><p>First, it starts with you.</p><p>Then, it's you and your computer and the--</p><p>internet.</p><p>All at your selfish disposal.</p><p>There really isn't any need for other people.</p><p>And this thereby construes Stiles's seemingly valid but entirely untrue excuse for being unable to consummate with another human being.</p><p>Let alone date one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe People Just Like Porn Better

Maybe people just like porn better. 

When you think logically - however 'logically' you'd want to think about this - it does make sense. I mean--

First, it starts with you.

Then, it's you and your computer and the--

internet.

All at your selfish disposal.

There really isn't any need for other people.

And this thereby construes Stiles's seemingly valid but entirely untrue excuse for being unable to consummate with another human being.

Let alone date one.

* * *

 "Maybe I'm just, un-datable, you know?" Stiles reasons, stuffing another curly fry into his mouth. "Maybe I'm just one of those guys--you know the one."

"Actually no, I don't," Scott sighs, reclining his seat and pulling his hood down. They're stuck in the middle of nowhere with no gas and no reception. And by nowhere a forest. With a car smashed between two trees. ("I told you I should have drived," Stiles says) Ideally, they could get out, what with Scott's super wolfy powers, but then it's cold. And Stiles isn't too fond of the cold. 

"I mean, you got Allison, and you're a freaking werewolf--wait. No, that's actually kind of hot. Damn it." Stiles stuffs innumerable curly fries into his mouth reflecting his frustration. "It's just unfair, you know?"

"Yeah."

"Really?" Stiles leans forward in his seat, "because that's really great, man. You've been really distant lately and I--"

"Stiles."

"--Yeah?"

"Go to sleep."

"But I'm not finished yet--"

Scott grabs the curly fries and throws them out the car window. He turns over.

"Jesus, someone's a little touchy."

"Stiles," Scott growls.

"Okay okay I'm sleeping."

* * *

It begins and ends not in a car, not in the middle of a frat party, but on a bed-- the 'proper' way, as they say.

He could go on to say how beautiful she was, how everything was all perfectly awkward, going hand-in-hand with the stereotypical, romantic first times. 

But by the end of it, it wasn't that great.

It was kind of shit.

He was nineteen. Second year of college.

* * *

Maybe it wasn't all that cracked up to begin with. Maybe all those movies and those relationships conditioned him into believing sex was a beautiful thing. 

It's disgusting, actually.

Honestly, the 'parts' themselves aren't even the 'sexy' we'd like them to be-- it's mushy and flappy and desensitizes you from the emotions even if you so much as glimpsed at it. 

A part of him was fascinated, it was obscene, yet it felt pleasurable, desirable.

But then when the high's over you feel spent and pretty fucking shitty, and you wonder why you did it in the first place.

This is why he doesn't have sex. 

* * *

It's accidental. Almost coincidence, but mostly accidental.

He was in the middle of the library, wandering the aisles when he paused on all things lycanthropy. It brought him back, for a second, the crazy shit that happened. And how it ended. Badly. He shakes his head, placing the book back on the shelf.

"--Stiles?"

This is a joke, right?

He turns, slowly raising his head and pushing his glasses up. "...Scott?"

He looks different now, older. But the good kind of older, the slight scruff around his jaw a nice touch. 

Ok that was weird. 

"Wow, you wear glasses now?" Scott points, "things have changed."

"Yeah," Stiles says, fiddling with them. "Why--What--What are you doing here?"

Scott laughs, running a hand through his hair. "I live here, believe it or not."

"Since when?" 

"Since last year."

"Wow, how have I never seen you?"

Scott shrugs, an uncomfortable silence taking place of the conversation.

Stiles breaks it. "Well, I better go," he says, looking down at his invisible watch. Like that wasn't obvious. "I'll see you."

Scott pretends not to notice. "Yeah, wait. What's your number? Maybe we can meet up some time. Catch up."

Stiles looks at him for a second, expression blank and contemplative. He snaps out of it. "Uh, yeah, yeah sure, here."

* * *

 It was their last year when everything got screwed up. There was tension, years of it, ever since the werewolf problem and it came to the point where they both couldn't take it, wouldn't admit to it, wouldn't talk about it, that they just rode through the whole year and waited impatiently for its end. He remembers how happy he was when it was the last day, when he would never see him again and have the gnawing urge to punch the shit out of him. He couldn't deal with him, the change was too much. They'd grown apart.

But then he shows up again and of course, they pretend nothing happened.

* * *

He calls on a Sunday morning. Stiles, a little peeved at the early-bird timing, and the thought of actually socializing on leisure day sounding extremely unpleasing, tells him yes anyway. He's curious.

* * *

 They go to Starbucks like the typical twenty-somethings they are and endure the inevitable, uncomfortable small talk.

"So, how've you been?" Scott asks, overly polite.

"Good, it's been good," Stiles replies, crisp. 

Scott nods, smile faltering slightly.

Stiles reflects it, nodding at the imminent awkwardness. Why did he think this was a good idea?

"Well--" Scott starts, "I've got a new apartment a few blocks from here. First time living alone, it's pretty different." He laughs.

"You're not with Allison?" Shit that was a little abrupt.

Caught off-guard, Scott looks down, avoiding Stiles's eyes. "Oh uh, yeah. We broke up."

"Oh, well okay," Stiles nods, unsure of what to say (just like the rest of this conversation).

They catch a movie and end the day with a "see you" Stiles intends to never reciprocate. 

* * *

 He calls him after a month, out-of-the-blue, completely unexpected, at two o' clock in the morning.

"Hello?" 

"Stiles?"

"Scott?" Stiles rubs at this eyes, glancing at the clock. 

"Yeah...I know it's late but," he hears Scott sigh through the receiver, "but can I come over?"

"Now?"

"Yeah."

Stiles takes a deep breath, something in the back of his mind screaming for sleep but he concedes. It's Scott. And by his voice, something's wrong. "Sure."

"Thanks." He hangs up.

He never asked for his address.

* * *

 "Can we talk?" 

"It's either that or have sex, so--" The sarcasm is uncontrollable with lack of sleep. Stiles gestures for him to come in.

Scott sits on the couch.

Stiles nods, hesitantly sitting on the otherside. He intertwines his fingers, waiting.

And so Scott takes the first step into talking all of this shit out.

At two o' clock in the morning.

Damn werewolves and their impulses, I mean this seriously could have been done in the morning. Where there was no sleep. And he was actually awake, not a half-dead zombie. Or completely dead, seeing as zombies are dead. Shit is he saying something?

* * *

"I'm sorry," Scott begins, "I'm not exactly sure of what, but I feel like I should be. Because I don't really understand what's happened to us -- how it's happened to us -- but it did. Has. Is." He shakes his head in frustration. "I just wish I knew why."

"You changed," Stiles dead-pans, "I changed," he falters, "maybe. I just...couldn't accept it. I didn't want to."

"Couldn't accept what?"

"The whole, you know," he flails his arms around, "werewolf business. Coming from the guy who had a asthma-induced-friend-suddenly-turned-indestructable-and-extremely-fuckable werewolf was a little, shocking." That was an understatement. "And then," he starts, "all the shit that happened. The werewolf thing becoming your life -- for viable reasons -- but something I just couldn't be a part of, couldn't make myself be a part of. So, in short, it was pretty much my fault."

"It wasn't just you. I didn't do anything about it," Scott says, "and I could have."

"Yeah, I could have too, but then the possibility of it--"

"--Making things worse? Yeah, that was always the problem."

"I wanted to pretend that everything thing was okay. That it was all in my head."

"But we grew apart," Scott finishes, "we just couldn't believe it."

"You were my best friend, the only person I could profusely spend time with." Stiles sighs, the nostalgia a little overwhelming.

Scott laughs, "Change is hard."

Stiles nods in agreement.

Scott turns, facing him, "I could still be, you know. Unless you've found a replacement."

"A replacement? When I had a fucking werewolf as my best friend? Impossible."

* * *

Sure, he was dazed and half-awake through the majority of it (and cringing at the utter honesty spouting from the both of them) -- but he gets it. He's trying to, and he's pretty happy about that.

Things get marginally better from that night on.

* * *

The first 'normal' conversation they have is about werewolves. There is no irony in this.

"So, how's the pack? And you? With the pack? Generally all the werewolf stuff I potentially missed," Stiles deadpans.

"You didn't really miss anything, they were pretty much the same crazy adventures, except without my sidekick."

"Ha, funny."

"Aren't I though?"

Stiles shoves him.

"But what about you? Really, how's life?"

"How's life?" Stiles repeats, looking up. "Life is life. That's it."

"You're different," Scott says, honest. "Something's changed."

"Not the Stiles you used to know?"

Scott chortles, "No, not that, the sarcasm's still there. Actually I think it's worse. I don't know maybe it's the age, and the glasses."

"You're pretty much the same, if that means anything."

"Still my old high school senior self?" Scott shrugs, "I guess that's a good thing." He pauses, wonders if it's worth saying. "It seems like real life's bored you."

"Yeah, well, it wasn't all that it was cracked up to be."

"Please don't tell me you're still a virgin."

"Yeah I joined a cult and decided to save myself."

Scott stops. "Wait, seriously?"

Stiles, incredulous, retorts, "What?--no, of course not."

Scott ignores it, curiosity getting the better of his annoyance. "When did it happen?"

"My second year of college. It wasn't that great."

"Usually isn't the first time."

"That's what the say. You and Allison though--"

"Yeah yeah," Scott reminisces, "that was just lucky."

"What happened to you two?"

"Grew apart, I guess. Other problems. It was pretty mutual."

He still seems pretty unhappy about it. Stiles disregards it, opting for positivity. "That's good."

Scott nods. "But what about you? Any girlfriends?"

"Not really, no. Dating didn't really work out."

Every time it came to the sex part it was downhill from there.

* * *

 He didn't realize it before, but he thinks he actually missed him. Or maybe he did realize it and didn't want to admit it to himself.

"Okay, it's happening. Right here, right now," Stiles says, kicking open Scott's apartment and throwing down the dvds and takeout on the table.

Movie night.

* * *

"I feel like we're in high school again," Scott chuckles, taking another swig of his beer.

"You gotta admit, it's pretty nice," Stiles responds, further sinking into the couch. He's a little a drunk and with a little drunk comes a little stupidity, so he asks, "Marry, fuck, kill: Thor, Odin, Loki."

"This is a game for teenage girls."

"Your point? Anyway we all know we've got a little hysterica passio in us so just roll with it, will you? It's fun."

"You've played this before?"

"Let's not talk about that. Answer the question."

"Alright, uh," Scott thinks, "Marry Thor, fuck Loki, and kill Odin."

"You're gonna fuck the bad guy?"

Scott turns to him and in all seriousness says, "I can't fuck an old guy."

Stiles laughs, taking a swig.

"You?"

"None of them, I hate sex." he says, unthinkingly. 

Shit.

"You hate sex?"

He tells him to drop it.

* * *

Scott brings it up the next day.

"Can I at least know why?"

"Why I don't what?" Stiles inquires, feigning ignorance. He pours himself a cup of coffee.

"Stiles," Scott sighs, seeing right through his weak attempt.

Stiles rolls his eyes, planting himself at the dining table. "It was bad. I did a few times more, it was still bad. That's it."

He scrutinizes him.

Stiles, after a few minutes under the harsh light, gives in. "I didn't feel anything. And it looked disgusting. And I felt like shit afterwards. I hated it. It was wrong. Every time. There. Happy?"

"Wow. Well, okay. I guess that's-- that's okay, then."

Stiles drops his head, dejected. "I sound like a freak."

"No! I mean, well, you're just...sensitive. Girls like that."

"That's just a polite way of saying I'm the sub in the relationship."

"Well, if she's into it."

Stiles kicks him under the table.

* * *

 "Don't freak out."

Stiles heaves, hand clutching his chest. "Don't freak out? Oh yeah, let me get right on tha--," 

Scott crashes his lips against Stiles's. He's fairly sure his brain short-circuits.

But he can breathe again, and speak. "Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shi--"

"I panicked." Scott shrugs, hesitant.

"You--you panicked?" Stiles fakes a laugh picking himself up off the floor, "that makes perfect sense."

"That's how Lydia did it."

"Yeah, to stop my breath, and it's Lydia, you could've just used your hand--"

"It was just a kiss, Stiles, calm down."

"I know," Stiles paces, "I know, just didn't expect that."

"You're alive, aren't you?"

"Yes, of which I am eternally grateful, still doesn't make it any less weird." 

"You're the one who's making it weird."

"Yeah yeah--I know. So I'll stop. Talking. Altogether. Because honestly I think that's my best bet in this situation."

"Stiles."

"--and this was a  _situation_ \--"

"Stiles."

"--and I mean holy mother of  _god_ \--"

"Don't make me kiss you again."

He shuts his mouth.

* * *

 He forgot that happened. But he could've sworn he'd felt differently about it. But then again it was just a dream, and dreams do weird things like that. Such as making the thought of kissing your best friend sound absolutely tantalizing. 

He can't stop staring at Scott's lips for the rest of the day.

"Stiles?" 

He snaps out of his reverie and almost face-plants into the table. 

* * *

It's heightening, to levels he did not think possible. 

The dreams have been getting more vivid, in ways he's never pictured with Scott and the funny thing is he's actually enjoying it. Thoroughly.

In fact he doesn't want it to stop.

* * *

"Hey, which one do you want?" Scott points, looking up at him.

Stiles watches him, smiling for absolutely no reason.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" 

"Like what?" He didn't even know he was doing anything. 

Scott studies his eyes in response, slack-jawed, wondering. "--Nevermind, what are you getting?"

* * *

 He thought he hated sex.

But now he's reconsidering. Because it's Scott. He wants to have sex with Scott, subconsciously or something. That's an entirely sane contemplation.

It's come to the point that even the sight of him just--

"Hey can I borrow something? My shirt's soaked through," Scott walks in (he has a key) pulling off his shirt as he speaks, "I forgot to bring an umbrella."

Stiles just barely misses a finger. "Uh," he drools, "uh, yeah, yeah definitely," carefully placing the knife back on the cutting board. "Come on," he calls, rushing past Scott into the bedroom. "So I have," he glances nonchalantly (awkwardly) behind him, "this--"

"Will it fit?"

"What do you mean 'will it fit' I'm not that much smaller than you," he retorts, turning and smacking sticky-warm skin.

Scott braces him by the elbows. Stiles freezes. Long, tedious seconds pass.

"Are you okay?" Scott breathes, warm against Stiles's neck.

He was closer than expected. And warmer than expected. And sexier than expected.

And Stiles is more turned on than expected.

* * *

When is he ever turned on? He's never turned on. Not by one look, not by a little 'wind' on the back of his neck,

Is he gay?

* * *

Nope. No. He is not gay.

He throws on his clothes, quietly closing the guy's apartment door (he didn't even get his name).

Penises. So many penises.

He feels even shittier than the last time. Apparently that was possible.

* * *

What is wrong with him. Why did he think that was a good idea? How could that ever be a good idea? He's going crazy. No. He's gone  _fucking_ crazy.

Sex is shit. It's always been shit and that's never going to change.

* * *

 It doesn't stop. It hasn't quenched his _desire_.

i.e. He might, possibly -- no. 

It's his best friend.

* * *

"What did it feel like the first time, with you and Allison," Stiles vaguely inquires.

Scott glances at him, seeking an answer, but casually replies, "Beautiful. Everything I thought it would be, probably better."

"Yeah," Stiles dismissively agrees, "but how?"

"How?"

"How did it feel like that."

"Stiles, what is it?"

He feels warmth rush to his cheeks, "I just wanted to know."

He can tell Scott wants to push, but refrains and continues. "It was the way she touched me," Stiles grips at the couch cushion, trying to move away "I could feel the need," He can't stop the pull, the way his breath turns shallow as he slowly moves closer, "the way she wanted me as much as I wanted her," listens to the way Scott's eyes close and voice soften, "the way we got lost in each other, as cliche as it sounds." 

His hand misses the couch, accidentally covering Scott's and willing the other's eyes open, giving him just enough to say "Stiles--"

His lips brush softly against his, careful and unsure, but wont nonetheless. Stiles lingers, taking in the warmth and comfort and that unguarded feeling of _more_  and pulls away. He sees the shock and confusion in Scott's eyes and realizes his absolute idiocy seconds too late.

"I-"

He doesn't get the chance to finish.

Scott pulls him closer, kisses him harder, hands running through Stiles's hair and _yes it must be a dream_  but it doesn't stop.

* * *

Sometimes he wakes up and can't believe he fell for his best friend. Some days this feeling is stronger than others; like today, for instance.

They've gotten more comfortable with each other, or rather, Scott's gotten more comfortable with Stiles. Stiles, on the other hand, is not particularly keen on this sort of comfort. Scott's body language screams intimacy, touching him with a different intent, one that Stiles is absolutely terrified of. 

* * *

Sprawled onto the couch, legs pillowed by Stiles' lap, Scott brings it up in the middle of Friday movie night. He changes position, near enough to place a hand on Stiles' knee. The other casually shoves it off. 

Scott sighs, frustrated. "Stiles, it's not going to change anything."

"You don't know that. I know that," Stiles reasons, eyes glued to the television screen.

"We won't know if we don't even try."

"I've tried. And it was bad."

"Wait a second, you did?"

Why does he talk. He should just stop talking. He cringes as he replies, "...yeah."

"When?"

"When I thought my attraction to you was just gay. But apparently I'm actually in love with you so," Stiles shrugs. "But anyway end point: it was bad. Disgusting. Like the feeling you have when you jerk off to porn."

"You're in love with me."

Stiles stops, rewinding the words in his head. He quickly turns to face him, eyebrows raised. "Sorry, what?"

"You love me," Scott smiles, reveling in the way the words roll of his tongue.

"Mm, do I?" Stiles asks, tilting his head, desperately trying to hide the obvious.

"Yeah, and so do I, so that makes things easy."

"Wait," Stiles pauses, eyes lingering on Scott's. His smiles, realization slowly dawning on him. "You do." He kisses him, hands on his cheeks as he brings him close.

_Wait._

He pauses, pulling back, "Makes  _what_  easy."

Scott runs a hand up Stiles's thigh.

He pushes it away, edging towards the other end of the couch. He turns away. "No."

"You're looking at it the wrong way." Scott palms Stiles' face, turning it towards him. "Sex isn't just sex. You don't just see," He moves it to grab at the strands on the nape of his neck, giving it a slight tug. "You feel." Stiles gasps, Scott capturing his mouth. "You lose yourself into another person," he whispers, reassuring. "And then," he kisses him again, sucks on his bottom lip. He pulls away, warm breath ghosting across his bitten-red lips, "all that's left is the two of you. Together." Stiles gazes back at him, slack-jawed. "We'll take it slow," he promises, soft and sure. He runs his other hand down Stiles's shirt and up again, catching at the hem, just barely grazing Stiles' stomach. 

It's driving him crazy. "Scott," he interjects between kisses, "what are you doing," he wisps out. 

"Taking it slow," he repeats, unfazed, occupied with Stiles' neck. 

"Right, yeah," the other draws out, every bit of his willpower disseminating with each touch.

That's when he feels it, that hand moving farther down than before, slipping under the waistband of his sweatpants and Stiles just misses the chance to push him away and Scott--

Stiles moans, gripping at the other's arms.

Slowly, carefully, Scott picks up a rhythm, picking up Stiles' breath, picking up each murmur that he tries to hide. He pulls Scott closer, winding his arms around his neck and placing his head against his. His fingers entangle themselves in Scott's particularly unruly hair, his breath hitching with every tug. He kisses him, again and again and  _again_ ; Scott meeting halfway because it's just never enough.

Closer and closer, he feels it welling up inside, his joints stiffening, bracing for the impact--

and it hits.

He lets go.

* * *

 "How was it," Scott asks, hesitant. 

Stiles heaves, eyes meeting the other's. "F-fine," he stammers, avoiding his eyes.

Scott chuckles. "I love you."

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> look what's this it's a tumblr oh god it's shocking: tomlowkey.tumblr.com
> 
> hope you liked it though the porn is at a minimum


End file.
